


Dark Chocolate

by Lefaym



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-07
Updated: 2008-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefaym/pseuds/Lefaym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto makes a small purchase, and searches for order in chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notevery](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=notevery).



> Thanks to used_songs and justinej on LJ for the betas.

It seemed appropriate: a small brown package (bite-sized, only thirty-five grams), with dull gold lettering, tucked neatly inside his jacket. Nothing particularly special about it, just something he'd picked up from the news stand in the Plas during his lunchbreak, but it seemed to fit—a neat circularity.

Of course it wasn't neat, not really. Exactly one year for him, but more than that for Jack. Still, the small symbols helped him, signs of order in the midst of chaos.

He didn't have a specific plan when he bought it. Jack would no doubt have a few ideas about how they could use it; for that matter, Ianto could think of a few ideas on his own, but that didn't seem right somehow. He was tempted to put it in the top draw of his desk in the Tourist Office, and just leave it there, untouched, as a reminder. But that didn't feel quite right either. Eventually, he forgot about it, distracted by the need to investigate and remove space junk that had fallen through the Rift that morning.

It wasn't until he and Jack were on their own, later that evening, responding to a reported weevil sighting in a park on the outskirts of the city, that Ianto remembered the neat oblong package resting inside his jacket. He couldn't help but wonder if the universe was organising itself into some sort of random symmetry.

Not complete symmetry, but close enough. There was the familiar thrill of a quickened heartbeat (he could admit it to himself now, the thrill of it, he didn't try to hide from that anymore)— Jack lured, and he chased; Jack's body arched as he threw himself out of the way, allowing Ianto to close in, and then—

—a single silver star blooming before his eyes, and a vague sensation of falling backwards, followed the very distinct sensation of his body colliding with the ground.

"Ianto? Ianto!" Jack's voice seemed to echo inside his skull, as he warily pulled himself into a sitting position.

Ianto felt a hand supporting his shoulders, and when his vision became clear he saw Jack's face close, concerned. "What happened... to the weevil?" Ianto managed weakly.

"Escaped. Down the drain." Jack's hand gingerly made its way into Ianto's hair.

"We should... go after..."

"Think you're up to it?"

Ianto nodded, but when he got to his feet (or tried to, at any rate), the world suddenly spun again, and before he knew it, Jack had caught him under his arms, and was lowering him to the ground again, bringing him to rest against the trunk of an old oak tree.

"I'll go," Jack said, and before Ianto could argue, he disappeared.

So much for symmetry. At least he could be grateful that his attempts at heroics hadn't ended so badly the first time. (He'd told himself then that he'd been grateful only for Lisa's sake, but he knew himself better now. It hadn't been only for her.)

Ianto reached inside his jacket, and removed the deceptively small and simple-looking package from his jacket, turning it over in his hands, not coming out of his reverie until Jack returned, the heavy fall of his boots announcing his arrival.

"You okay?" Ianto asked, noting the blood on Jack's cheek from a wound that had, no doubt, already healed (some things repeat themselves, at least). He began to rise, but although he felt no signs of dizziness this time, Jack motioned for him to sit back down.

"I'm fine," Jack grunted, lowering himself to sit beside Ianto. "Unfortunately, so is the weevil. Damn thing got away from me."

They exchanged small snatches of conversation as Jack cleaned himself up with a wet wipe that Ianto had produced from his front pocket. He missed bits though, especially on his face; Ianto was about to point this out to him when Jack leaned over and grabbed his left hand, which was still holding the small, neatly wrapped parcel.

"What's this?" Jack murmured, with a smile.

Ianto felt his breath catch unexpectedly, and he suddenly felt silly. "Nothing," he said quietly.

"Nothing, huh?"

Jack's voice was light, softly teasing, and yet it made Ianto feel almost naked. Jack had little reason to mark the passing of years, but he'd observed others doing so for so long now that, surely, he could see through even the most obscure, seemingly innocuous rituals that people devised to measure the flow of time.

Ianto breathed deeply. "Just this," he said, holding the package up so that Jack could see the print in the moonlight.

_80% Cocoa. Bittersweet_.

Jack cocked his head and his smile became quizzical, but when he spoke, he only said lightly, "I'll have some, if you're offering."

Ianto considered him for a moment, then made up his mind. Yes, this is better, he thought. Better than letting it sit in his office, forgotten.

"Okay," he said.

Slowly, deliberately, Ianto turned it over and opened the package, taking care not to tear the paper, or the gold foil that lay beneath it. He thought that it might have melted during the heat of the day, or later, while he'd been running around, but it had kept its shape, and that wasn't right, somehow. The exterior needed to be tidy, ordered, but inside, it was different. Or it should be. Taking great care, Ianto broke off a corner, making sure that it didn't split along the neat factory-stamped lines.

Looking up, he met Jack's eyes, and raised the small piece of chocolate to Jack's mouth. His lips parted slightly, just wide enough for Ianto to slip the fragment between them. Ianto pushed it past Jack's teeth and let his fingers linger a moment, allowing Jack to nip at them lightly, before he pulled them away.

Jack's jaw and the muscles in his cheeks worked slowly; Ianto had the impression that he was simply moving it around in his mouth, allowing it to melt. When enough time had passed—enough that there would only be a little left—Ianto leaned across and brushed his lips lightly across Jack's, before pressing harder against him, allowing his tongue to dart forward—tentatively at first, but becoming more demanding as he tasted the rich cocoa laced with the barest hint of sugar. The flavour seemed to fit, somehow.

Jack ran his hands down Ianto's waistcoat, then skimmed his fingers around the waistband of his trousers. When they slipped even further downwards, however, towards his fly, Ianto caught both of Jack's hands in his own, holding them still for several long seconds, before releasing them to pick up the remaining chocolate.

"Not yet, Jack," he whispered with a small smile. "Not yet." And he gently pushed Jack down onto the cool, slightly damp grass.

It was a bit awkward, getting things exactly right. Not that he could get it exactly right, but he'd settle for a close approximation. Open air, not a warehouse, and bats instead of Myfanwy, but still, it was him and Jack, and that was enough. Their arms and legs tangled almost clumsily as Ianto arranged himself on top of him, and he began to worry that the mood would be lost, but then Jack laughed and Ianto laughed with him. That worked, because they had laughed back then too.

When they became quiet, Ianto took a moment to press his face against Jack's neck, breathing in the scent of him: sweat, and skin and that indescribable something that was always there, regardless. He ran his tongue along the side of Jack's throat; when Jack moaned, Ianto felt it vibrate throughout his entire body.

He lifted himself up a little, and reached for the chocolate, lying on the ground beside them. Shifting a little, he broke off another piece, and without prompting, Jack's lips parted. After it disappeared behind his teeth, Ianto brought his face close to Jack's, and realigned their bodies, still fully clothed. He could feel Jack's erection pressing into his thigh, and he knew that his own body was making a similar impression on the other man.

And Ianto allowed himself to remember—as he so rarely did—the first time they had lain together like this: close, excited, and wanting. He remembered the heavy jolt that had passed through his body when Jack's breath had tickled his lips, arousal and shame mixed together.

They hadn't kissed then, although (he could admit it to himself now, he revelled in admitting it to himself) he'd wanted to. This time, there was nothing to hold him back. His lips closed over Jack's, and Jack placed a hand behind his head, and pulled him closer, as the chocolate still on Jack's tongue melted between their mouths.

Ianto allowed a leg to slip between Jack's thighs, applying just the right amount of pressure. Jack's response was immediate, and before Ianto quite knew what had happened, he found their positions reversed, his own back pressed uncomfortably against the root of a tree. Jack's hands made their way down his front, undoing his tie, and the buttons of his shirt. Ianto gasped as Jack's mouth found his left nipple, and he quickly began to work at Jack's own clothing.

He'd only managed to undo Jack's shirt, revealing the white cotton beneath, when the other man paused, and tilted his head to the side for a moment. "You haven't had any yet," he said.

Ianto's breath caught. "Maybe I should," he whispered.

Jack pulled away from him then, and Ianto felt the cool night air on his exposed skin. Jack pulled himself into a kneeling position, and retrieved the chocolate. "Face me?" he said.

Ianto nodded, and rose to his knees, mirroring Jack. "Close your eyes," Jack said slowly; Ianto did so before Jack had finished speaking. In front of him, he heard the rustle of paper and foil, and the dull snap that accompanied the release of kinetic energy. And then Jack's hand was gently running along his jaw, coaxing it open.

The chocolate was heavy on Ianto's tongue, and at first, the raw bitterness of the cocoa threatened to overwhelm everything else. He suddenly remembered the first time he'd knelt in front of Jack, of how scared he'd been that he would give himself away, that he'd give her away with his inexperience. And of how scared he'd been that he'd actually wanted to be there for reasons that had nothing to do with her. Then he remembered another time, on his knees, a gun at his head, but he hadn't been scared that time. He'd been too angry to feel fear.

Jack's fingers were on his mouth again, coaxing another piece—a tiny last piece—inside, and suddenly, Ianto felt that anger again, that bitterness. But then as this new piece melted, he tasted the sweetness on the tip of his tongue, and then he remembered the way that Jack had run a gentle finger through Ianto's hair, that first time, reassuring him. And he remembered how, later on, Jack had placed a hand on his back, letting him know that it would all be okay, that forgiveness was not so difficult, after all (but he'd struggled against it anyway, for a little while).

And then Jack's mouth was hard on his, Jack's hands were at his neck and behind his head, both gentle and demanding, and Ianto was feeling it all at once, anger and affection, (and maybe something more than affection, but he couldn't name it, because there were still some boundaries that he wouldn't allow himself to cross), frustration and relief, desire and more desire. All of it mingled there on his tongue, in the firmness of Jack's lips and in this way that Jack's stubble rubbed against his own.

_This_ was what he'd needed. _This_ was why he'd visited the newsagent at lunchtime. Dimly, he was aware, when they fell back to the ground together, that he'd landed on the empty wrapper; he felt it crumple between his shoulder and the earth beneath him. There was nothing neat about it now, but that didn't seem to matter anymore. Maybe it never had been neat (and _Oh, God, where did Jack learn to do that with his tongue_?), maybe the neatly folded corners and impeccably pressed suits meant very little in the end.

Maybe it was more a matter of finding chaos in order, the moment when symbols dissolve and simply become something imperfect, but worth holding onto anyway. Bittersweet.


End file.
